


Black Fairy Tale

by Roturier



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Classic Kuro, Other, large cast of Nobles, the butler's cats come out of their wardrobe and learn to regret their life choices, the manor catches fire AGAIN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27875662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roturier/pseuds/Roturier
Summary: Strangeness and Phantomhive go together and everyone in England k nows it. Still, as Elizabeth decides to host her first costumed masque since becoming the Countess of the manor, extreme strangeness seems to break out and not only is there no earl, there is no butler to reign it in.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Black Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

> this was born one late night when I was feeling silly and in the mood for some classic Phantomhive servant mayhem. Someone tried to get me to add it to Inktober but I dunno...I didn't think it really fit. But it wasn't doing anybody any good just sitting on my hard drive, so here ya go. Good or bad, it is what it is. Nothing profound, just typical servant hijinks and a sulky butler letting them sink or swim on their own for once.

Lately something strange was afoot in Phantomhive manor.

Well, actually, ‘strange’ wasn’t really _that_ strange in this particular household, but whatever _was_ going on, it was odd in the sense that nothing like it had ever happened there before. Not since the _last_ great servant-related cock-up befell them all at Phantomhive manor.

Yes, about that. I suppose I should explain…

Young Lizzy—*tsch*, sorry, the countess, _Lady_ Phantomhive—had insisted on throwing this stupid party without her husband’s blessing. Or permission. Or knowledge, come to that. Not even the head butler was told about it. 

Lizzy had, however, recruited all the _other_ servants, even the footman Snake, and managed a nearly unthinkable end-run around the head butler—or so she believed— all so she could have her own way, come Hell or high water.

Well, Hell came.

Too bad the high water hadn’t shown up as well; they could’ve really used it.

Do pity the girl. She was never that good at paying attention to what others were saying when it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. In Lizzy’s world, a world marshalled by her mother, the intimidating (some said _terrifying_ ) Marchioness Middleford*, servants danced attendance on the young girl’s every word, and did whatever she asked of them _instanter._ Her mother was _extremely_ good at training servants. Servants who did not do what was asked of them at lightning speed did not stay around long in the Marquess of Scotney’s household.

So of course, based on these experiences, the girl made some predictable and probably very reasonable assumptions about her ball plans. In the past, whenever she’d come to visit Phantomhive Manor, she’d never noticed anything out of place. The food was delicious, the desserts exquisite, one could eat off the floors or anywhere else in perfect safety—not that she ever would! But everything was always done up properly and exactly on time. It all seemed a very orderly, sensible sort of household. She had no way of knowing she’d just cut out of her plans the one servant who actually made all that happen, and royally hacked him off into the bargain. She believed she had good reason however: Sebastian the butler always sided with her husband against her! Ciel always hated parties of any sort and Sebastian had supported Ciel in voting thumbs down on her masked ball idea.

But Sebastian Michaelis was just the butler. _She_ was mistress here and she had everybody else on board with her plans, so pooh on the stupid butler and his obstructionist habits. Lizzy didn’t need him.

And so, foolishly assuming the gardener could garden, the maid could do whatever it was maids did all day and that the cook could…well, _cook_ , she simply handed everyone their marching orders regarding her masked ball, with rather breathless last-minute tips to all and sundry and then flitted off to the solar to put up her feet. There she lounged, a domestic fairy princess celebrating a job well done and treating herself to a pleasant afternoon reading her ladies’ magazine as a reward.

Things started going badly almost immediately: Bard nearly lost his mind with her calling him ‘chef’ every whip-stitch, and what with Sebastian strangely missing, there was no one to keep abruptly jerking the so-called ‘chef’ back down to earth with regular ice-cold doses of reality, no one to prevent him going completely goofy and reaching for the flame thrower and the dynamite as was his wont when not closely watched. Hence, he started thinking he could actually pull off all those dishes the Middleford girl was so confidently demanding of him. It was _just_ cooking, so yeah, sure, he could do it…probably. 

Lizzy’d become so terrifyingly assertive since she’d started looking more like a young woman and less like ‘that little blonde dervish’ Mr. Sebastian used to call her behind her back when she was just a little thing and would come bursting in unannounced, to visit her fiancee’ every couple of weeks. In fact, Bard noticed the girl was never quite the same after they’d all come back from that disastrous ocean-going trip to America— at least that’s where they said they’d been intending to go. Never actually got there… Bard chewed on his unlit cigarette and wondered what had really happened to them on that sinking ship. None of them were ever quite the same after that and even that superman, Sebastian, had come home in a basket, big hole in his chest and looking like a drowned rat. He looked for all the world like he’d given the ship’s propeller a big hug while it was underway.

It seemed to Bard the girl had become really forward right after that trip. Demanding-like, and well, he guessed he might as well say it straight: downright bossy.

It was along about then that Bard started seriously wondering how he was going to be able to make all those fancy, Frenchified dishes he’d let that little girl bully him into promising. He admitted --to himself -- he was shit at saying no to girls, especially pretty ones. Then he wandered off to his bedroom to worry and sweat and grind his teeth for a bit while trying and come up with some kind of plan. Instead, with the thought in mind of ‘ _Aaah, why worry? Sebastian’s gonna pop up and save the day. He always does,’_ he shrugged and lay down, falling asleep until dinnertime.

It should’ve been no surprise to anyone that Lizzy’s masque ball was going to turn into the biggest disaster since Undertaker packed that ship full of walking dead and then turned them all loose _just to see what would happen._ The butler saw the signs a mile off and prepared well ahead of time: the reason he was nowhere to be found was because he’d retreated to the mansion roof, kicked off his shiny oxfords and, without telling anyone, stretched out on a couple of cushions, big thermos of muriatic acid within sipping distance, sack of his favourite between-souls snack of crispy buttered imps at his elbow, and settled in to watch the show.

The Gardener had actually managed to mix something flammable into that fertilizer box he was so fond of putting on his back and spritzing everything with, and by the time the butler’s ultra-sharp nose caught the heavy reek of petrochemicals, there were no less than a half dozen trees in the garden going up like torches on Bonfire night. Yes, the entire front lawn was aflame. This, just as all the carriages had begun to arrive, trundling up the long drive for the party. Half the nobility in England, in London for the season, pulled up in their chosen conveyances and sat gobsmacked, wondering whether this was part of the entertainment or if they were witnessing the Phantomhive manor going up in flames yet _again_.

“Seems a bit extreme, even for the famed ‘Phantomhive hospitality,’” mused the scandalous viscount Druitt, as he threw a heavy thigh over his carriage companion and then began shoving his tongue down her throat without asking permission.

Luckily enough, a freak ‘wind devil’ appeared from ‘nowhere’ and managed to generate such a massive wall of wind it _whooshed_ the conflagration right out of existence just as the forest was starting to smoulder and a line of flame was beginning to race across the field to the nearby village.

The startled partygoers sat blinking in their carriages for a bit, waiting to see if anything else entertaining was about to happen. A sudden return of the black death? Or perhaps a couple of beasts of the Revelation might amble by? When it was the Phantomhives, one could never tell. But when nothing other than a couple of smouldering cats streaked across the property, the nobility took heart, decided it was all in good fun and began climbing out of their carriages.

They really shouldn’t have.

Before the night had even got started, the maid managed to trip and spill several bottles of cleaning chemicals down the grand staircase. Since their lids hadn’t been properly tightened as Sebastian was continually nagging them, they all spilled, then burst, then rushed together into a noxious sulphur-coloured cloud, thick as a London pea-souper, and went rolling straight down the steps into the arriving guests. They were just stopping inside the door, giving Snake their wraps and straightening in their silly costumes which stopped most of them being able to see very well and kept all of them from running for their lives as they ought to have done. By the time all the windows had been thrown open and the women’s corsets loosed so they could breathe, nearly all of the men and every one of the now half-naked female revellers were revelling no more.

At least they didn’t die. 

At least Mey Rin’s poison cloud stopped them getting to Bard’s ‘food’ --which would’ve _really_ finished them off. Instead of all the fancy dishes Lizzy had asked for he’d produced a giant vat of greyish muck, full of bones and rinds and other shapeless things and cooked down into a uniform spackle. Nevertheless, since it mostly contained ingredients that were once living, it tempted one of Sebastian’s gently smoking moggies, who had slipped between the revellers’ legs and come in via the open door, and see the goings on. After one sniff and an experimental lick of Bard’s cooking, however, and she went stiff and tipped over dead into the other giant washtub of what Bard was calling “potato salad,” whatever that was. Now it was potato salad garnished with four stiff, hairy legs and a singed and ratty tail.

Just as the butler was coming down off the roof (where he’d been pouting about the whole party business, ignoring his little master’s cries for help, and –and oh yes, _really_ enjoying the mayhem going on below,) just as he was coming for the cat killer, teeth full of carbonized imps, spasming claws stretching out for the American’s fleeing neck, the woman of the hour, a vision of blonde and golden loveliness, appeared at the top of the grand staircase.

And there Lizzie paused, her head full of grandly envisioned party drama. She struck a pose in her beautiful dress, trimmed with blue to go with Ciel’s blue outfit trimmed in gold—He’d capitulate and put his on just as soon as he came out of his office and saw her glorious gala in full swing, she just knew it.

It was just about then that one of her society friends staggered across the corner of her vision, mask off, dress slipping off her torso, her skin a shiny cherry from all the CO2 in her system. Lizzy turned and stared wide-eyed at the chaos: she saw all her guests lying prostrate under a poisonous yellow cloud which was boiling low over the grand foyer. She saw the front lawn scorched, smoking, and several trees in flames. She turned and looked into the ballroom where she saw a dead animal sticking out of a vat of something looking like pig slop on the banquet table. And she saw Bard hiding in the doorway to the servants’ quarters.

When their eyes met, he ducked his head and sloped off.

And that was when Reality and the Middleford* princess met eye to eye for the first time and took one anothers’ measure. The first time Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Phantomhive ( _nee_ Middleford) _finally_ realized she’d become Mistress of a terrestrial branch of Hell itself.

She screamed. And kept on screaming until she ran out of air and finally fainted.

When she awoke, got up, packed her things, stole a carriage from amongst the abandoned ones scattered just outside the front door and drove herself back home to her mother’s and that was that.

**Author's Note:**

> * Pronounced 'MID-ford.'


End file.
